


heroes from unexpected places

by besully (Briar_Elwood)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bruxa Attack, Day Four, Geraskier Week, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bamf!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22772566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briar_Elwood/pseuds/besully
Summary: Geraskier Week Day Four: Hurt/ComfortThe others let out a screech--not a scream, but a screech of surprise, maybe, or maybe even pain, and the one practically on top of him turns. Vision finally going back into focus, Geralt takes in the sudden change in seconds. One of the bruxa’s heads is missing, her body toppling to the floor. The next one already has Geralt’s silver sword speared through its chest from behind.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 572





	heroes from unexpected places

There are too many of them for him to keep his eyes on, but Geralt can feel one of them stretch her mouth wide and  _ scream _ . Geralt throws up Quen, but it’s just slightly too late and the spell bursts before it can really even form. Geralt’s thrown backwards, back hitting a tree with a crack, and he drops. In one motion, the bruxae swarm. Not allowing himself time to recover, Geralt unsheathes his silver sword and swings at the closest one. The only good thing about this situation was a pack of bruxae meant they were less powerful--most of their power came from their numbers. Which was, honestly, enough, but at least Geralt could cut one down after another successfully even though there seemed to be no end to their barrage.

The screaming continues, though, and the longer it lasts the more Geralt’s vision swims. He swings blindly, going by feel and a vague sense of movement alone. Something warm trickles out of his ears, and his head pounds like an army is marching on it. He’s having trouble breathing through the sheer pain, and he barely even notices when his sword is knocked out of his hands. He falls to his knees heavily and finally,  _ finally _ the screaming stops. His ears still ring and his breath still catches, but the sharp pain ends leaving an overwhelming pressure he has to fight in order to stay somewhat coherent.

Through the distorting scene before him Geralt can see a black figure scramble towards him. Geralt throws Aard, but it’s weak and the bruxa’s only pushed back a couple inches. She immediately recovers and continues her advance. Geralt searches around frantically for his sword, and he sees the glint of silver a few feet in front of him, noticing at the same time the few remaining bruxae are all morphing back into their humanoid forms, advancing on him. The one closest kneels down beside him, showing her terrible fangs--

The others let out a screech--not a scream, but a screech of surprise, maybe, or maybe even pain, and the one practically on top of him turns. Vision finally going back into focus, Geralt takes in the sudden change in seconds. One of the bruxa’s heads is missing, her body toppling to the floor. The next one already has Geralt’s silver sword speared through its chest from behind. That leaves two--the one by Geralt and the one next to be attacked. Geralt can’t tell who his savior is, but the mouth of the bruxa next to him is curling open and Geralt musters the rest of his strength to throw Quen between the swordsman and the bruxa. With the spell on the opposite side of himself from the monster Geralt gets the full blast of the scream and loses consciousness.

* * *

He wakes only a few moments later to Jaskier shaking him awake. He can feel his blood pounding through his entire body, but there’s a sharp pain ringing on his neck. The bruxa had managed to bite him, he realizes. Gingerly he raises a hand to touch the wound and finds it’s ragged and entirely too large.

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Jaskier says, pulling Geralt’s hand away. “She already had her chompers in you when I got to her so when I attacked her fangs tore your skin wide open.”

“You attacked?” Geralt echoed, voice unsteady.

“Can we focus on the more pressing issue here?” Jaskier says. “I got your bag, but I don’t know how to tell these potions apart. Which one do we need?”

Geralt struggles to sit up (to which Jaskier mutters “Careful”) and scans the vials Jaskier’s laid out. Hand shaking, he points to the correct one.

“That one,” he growls, collapsing back down. Jaskier snatches the said vial and uncorks it. Geralt holds out a hand. “Give it to me.”

Jaskier hands him the vial and Geralt tips it, drinking about half of its contents. Jaskier grabs it back before Geralt’s shaking hand can drop it and, gently pulling away Geralt’s shirt and armor away, pours the rest of the potion on the wound. Geralt flinches and hisses as the potion sizzles on contact, and Jaskier presses a hand against Geralt’s chest.

“Breathe,” he says. Geralt snarls.

“When did you learn how to fight?”

“You need to rest.”

“Jaskier.”

There’s a pause before Jaskier answers. “My father thought it was an important skill to learn. I think I was about ten when the lessons started?”

“And your family had the money?”

“Do you not know I’m a Viscount?”

Geralt blinks, trying to get Jaskier back into focus. He, in fact, did not know that. The bard looks exasperated and… and unnerved? Geralt frowns.

“How long did you train?”

“I was fifteen when I left for Oxenfurt so… five years?”

“And you’ve been acting like you need me to protect you for all this time?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever  _ need _ to fight,” Jaskier says, sounding somewhat annoyed. “And I… I didn’t know if I still could.”

The world lurches at that moment, and Geralt is forced to close his eyes to ride out the wave of nausea. When it finally abates, he reaches for Jaskier without opening his eyes.

“Where’s Roach?”

“She’s right here.”

Geralt squints, eyes falling on Roach only a few feet away, nervously scuffing at the earth. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, still grasping Jaskier’s shoulder. “Help me get on her.”

“Geralt, I don’t think…”

“We need to get to the closest village or encampment so I can rest and heal,” Geralt grunts, attempting to get to his feet. Jaskier scrambles up, taking him by the elbow and heaving. Geralt lurches upwards and nearly falls flat on his face, but Jaskier catches him by the arms, pushing him upright. Ducking under his left arm, Jaskier wraps Geralt’s arm around his neck and they limp over to Roach at an infuriatingly slow pace. Every limb in Geralt’s body feels painfully sore, resisting every attempt to move. His head is still foggy, and his breath is in uneven bursts.

“You’re not supposed to die before me,” Jaskier is saying, voice quiet. “You said witchers only retire when they slow and get killed, but you’re not slowing. You’re just not, so you’re not allowed to fucking die.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that so he stays silent, leaning onto Roach as soon as she’s near enough. Jaskier doesn’t retreat, however, and helps shove Geralt on top of Roach. Geralt sways for a moment, then frowns at where Jaskier stands watching him with trepidation.

“What are you waiting for?” Geralt growls. “Get up. In front.”

Jaskier stares at him for a moment but climbs into position anyway. He takes Roach’s reins nervously, turning his head towards Geralt slightly.

“How do you know she’ll listen to me?”

Geralt hums, leaning forward to rest on Jaskier’s back. “Because I listen to you.”

* * *

This time Geralt wakes slowly, groaning as the thudding soreness of his entire body sinks back in. He hears a sharp breath a little ways away followed by,

“Thank the gods.”

Slowly Geralt pries his eyes open and looks around for Jaskier, who’s standing in the corner of the tent, looking… well, looking terrified. Senses coming back to him in a rush, Geralt sits up on his cot, searching for the threat that has Jaskier so on edge. The bard never gets scared so what the fuck could--

“Whoa, hey, slow down,” Jaskier says, rushing to Geralt. He comes to a halt before touching Geralt, though, and Geralt frowns at him, taking an assessment of the bard himself. There was no immediate danger in the vicinity, but Jaskier still looks distressed.

_ “You’re not allowed to fucking die.” _

Jaskier’s words in the woods come back to Geralt, hitting him in the chest with the same force as the bruxae screams. Suddenly he recognizes the looks of fear on Jaskier’s face as he had helped Geralt with the potion and told him about his childhood--he’d been in too much pain to notice them before, but they’re stark in his memory now. The bard never got scared in the face of any monster or villain, and apparently he could fend off anything that could attack all on his own. What scared Jaskier, Geralt realizes, is the possibility of Geralt dying.

Geralt swings his legs over the side of the cot and stands up. Jaskier scrambles backwards a little, the distress on his face increasing.

“Geralt, please, you’ve been out for days, take it slow…”

Geralt ignores him and walks towards Jaskier, opening his arms. Jaskier frowns at the gesture suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

“Going by experience, my guess is you need physical comfort right now.”

Jaskier’s face twists as he meets Geralt’s eyes. “I--”

Geralt doesn’t give him the time to respond, scooping the man up in his arms and bringing him close to his chest. Jaskier is taught as a bowstring for several moments, but Geralt just tightens his grip, holding him close. Then, all at once, Jaskier relaxes, buries his head on Geralt’s chest, and heaves a great sob. Geralt adjusts his grip, rubbing a hand on Jaskier’s back as soothingly as he knows how.

“I’m all right,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s hair. “You saved me.”

Jaskier punches him without malice in the shoulder, still sobbing. “Don’t you  _ ever _ make me do that again.”

Geralt winces. “I can’t make that promise, Jaskier.” The sobbing hightens. Geralt places a hand on the back of Jaskier’s head, running fingers through his hair.

“I’ll tell you what I can do, however.”

Jaskier hiccups and pulls back slightly, looking searchingly at Geralt.

“I’m going to continue your sword fighting lessons.”

Jaskier hiccups again and wipes roughly at his cheeks with the back of a fist. “I killed four bruxae all on my own. I think I’m good.”

Geralt chuckles. “That’s true. All the same. I’d like to teach you.”

Jaskier frowns at him with watery eyes for a few moments before finally nodding. “Okay. I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ loralielo


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